To Catch A Malfoy
by RoseofThorns
Summary: She had done her best to bury her wretched past away from the world. Her heart now desired Draco Malfoy. Is love truly worth embracing darkness?


It was an unseasonably cold winter's day in Scotland. Nowhere was that more evident than in the sprawling grounds of Hogwarts. The lake's normally dancing surface was frozen solid and the only movement visible was that of the giant squid gliding underneath the ice. Even the nefariously active Womping Willow was frozen into lethargy on this frosty morning.

It was too cold even for quidditch practice, so mobs of children from every house entertained themselves by starting impromptu snowball fights across every corner of the grounds. Poor Professor Snape would have been safer trying to cross the streets of London blindfolded. Two well-aimed snowballs (from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor respectively) successfully toppled him.

Kestra rose from her desk and went over to her window seat, which overlooked Hogwart's grounds. She plopped herself down on its plush cushions. This was her favorite part of her room, as she could see everyone from this vantage point.

Kestra absentmindedly twirled a bit of her hair around one of her delicate fingers. She looked at it with mild annoyance. Each strand of her hair was a varying shade of red, blonde or auburn. Many people had commented on how it resembled a magnificent sunset, each part fading into the next. Kestra viewed as a wildfire she needed to tame every morning. Many people with skin as fair as Kestra's and hair as red often found themselves covered in freckles of similar hues. Luckily for Kestra, she only had a light smattering of freckles across her upper cheeks and over her nose.

Other students were often surprised to see that this Slytherin witch had her lodgings in a place other than the dungeons with the rest of the Slytherins. The truth was that Kestra had actually lodged with her fellow Slytherins in her first year, but, because her health was so frail, it became difficult for her to deal with the damp and musty air of the dungeons. So Dumbledore had wisely moved her to a spacious room well out of the dank lower levels of Hogwarts.

Kestra coughed a little but quickly regained her composure. Every time she coughed it reminded her of the source of her frail health. It was due to her father, Antoine Croix, and all those years she had to spend hiding out in some drafty castle in Wales. Other mundane incidents conjured up memories of her horrid past more frequently than she would have liked. Rats, for instance, were a constant source of fear for Kestra.

As a small child, in the dilapidated castle, rats would often scurry about the floor when the candles had been extinguished. Kestra's bed was no more that a straw pallet on the damp floor, so she would often awake to the sound of their little feet and whiskers around her bed. All these years later, she often felt a tear slide down her cheek as she saw the first years file into the great hall for sorting, knowing that some would inevitably have rats with them

She told herself to forget about these things. It was a long time ago and she had had many happy memories since then.

For a time, she could manage to forget about her father and her life before Hogwarts, but it was her name that she wished to forget the most. It was her name that caused her the most pain.

Kestra's last name was Croix, something she left of out of any introductions if at all possible. She winced as she remembered how she learned this lesson in her first year.

_"Kestra Croix? Not the daughter of Antoine Croix?" inquired a curious Ravenclaw on the Hogwarts express._

Why didn't she lie? Her artful tongue had gotten her out of many scrapes in the past. Just one word and her life at Hogwarts could have been so different. She willed herself to say 'No.'

But she had said yes.

"_Oh my goodness! Lavinia, get in here now! The daughter of Antoine Croix is in our compartment, come quick!" the Ravenclaw had shrieked_.

They might have well charged admission because, in the minutes after, a small crowd had gathered outside the compartment to gawk at the genuine progeny of a Deatheater, _the _Deatheater, Antoine Croix.

Kestra's pale skin blushed a deep shade of crimson as she stuffed that memory as far away as she could. She tried to cheer herself up by scanning the grounds for familiar faces and immediately recognized a certain Draco Malfoy patrolling the yard with a sizable posse of hangers-on.

"Mr. Malfoy what are you up to today?" Kestra mused aloud as she saw the group of Slytherins make their way over to a hapless first year Gryffindor, who was looking around vainly for an avenue of escape.

"Flemington, Lyle," Kestra muttered as she examined the doomed Gryffindor boy. She remembered him from the sorting earlier in the term. There was no particular reason for why the boy's name had stuck in her head. The truth was _every_ name stuck in her head. Kestra's photographic memory served as more than a social rolodex. It helped her achieve top marks every term, even beating out Hermione Granger once or twice.

As if on cue, Kestra saw Hermione jump in front of the quivering first year, and, by the look on her face, was using some choice words to drive off the offending Slytherins.

Kestra smiled a bit. She was all for house loyalty, well at least for as far as it got her, but her friendship with Harry, Ron and Hermione seemed so natural that the pesky little fact that she belonged to Slytherin didn't really seem to apply.

She studied Draco's face as he and his comrades sauntered away from Hermione. He had always been an enigma to her. He was quite attractive, there was no denying that. His hair was like flax and his eyes misty and stormy compared to her clear ones. And he was confident, no, pompous would have been a better word for Malfoy.

Kestra had always been too busy with her schoolwork to really be seriously involved with anyone, but she felt a draw to Draco. She had been mulling over pursuing Draco for quite a while now. But did one pursue a Malfoy or was it the other way around? She had to admit she had very little advice to work with.

Hermione Granger was her only close female friend and no fan of Malfoy's. If the bushy-haired witch had even an inkling of Kestra's feeling for Draco, no matter how minor, Kestra would probably have found herself locked in her room until she came to her senses, courtesy of Hermione's door-jamming charm.

The boys would not be much help either. It wasn't like she could just saunter up to Ron and Harry and ask whether aggressive or coy would be a better approach in pursuing their archrival.

Kestra watched Hermione lead the quivering Lyle off to his next class. Kestra quickly gather up her cloak and threw it over her shoulders, it was time to have a little chat with Mr. Malfoy.

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AN: This is my first story, all reviews and advice are welcome. 


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